


Jeeves and the Gentleman's Personal Djinn

by godsdaisiechain (preux)



Category: Jeeves & Wooster, Jeeves - P. G. Wodehouse
Genre: Alternate Universe - Genie/Djinn, Cow Creamer, Crack, Eiffel Tower, Fluff and Crack, Flying Carpet, Louvre, M/M, Ninevah, Paris (City), Pink Panties, Shoes, slave in babylon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-02
Updated: 2014-02-23
Packaged: 2017-12-22 03:57:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 10,330
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/908623
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/preux/pseuds/godsdaisiechain
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Plot bunny from caligularb...</p><p>Bertie returns home to find Jeeves shimmering about the flat in sheer pink trousers and curly-toed shoes.</p><p>There is a kiss.</p><p>And then a mystery unfolds as the duo consider what to do next. Will the Jeevesian past destroy their future?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The pink trousers

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bertie comes home to find Jeeves looking very...interesting

"Hot ginger and dynamite..." Bertie twirled a cheerful whangee as he entered the flat. Tossing his hat onto the hatrack and the cheerful w. into the umbrella stand, he looked up and the spirited rendition of “Nagasaki” died on his ruby lips as Jeeves shimmered into view with a refreshing brandy on a small tray.  A sort of profusion of pinkness and bright blueness profused about the Jeevesian person.

  
After a few false starts, Bertie rustled the pleasant, light baritone into working, if somewhat froggy, trim. “Jeeves?” The slender limbs swung limply at the tweeded sides at the sight of the bare, tanned Jeevesian chest. His eyes darted to the long, flowing trousers made of sheer fabric that draped strategically in front. The Wooster jaw gaped as the young master took in the lapiz and cerulean sash covered with closely-worked images of lamps and strange curly script. 

> An eyebrow quirked in fond amusement. “Good evening, sir,” said Jeeves, looking muscular and handsome and tanned and fit and positively edible. "Would you care for a brandy and soda, without, in fact, any soda?"  Bertie should have fallen on the refreshing beverage like a starving man, but the s. limbs continued to s. limply. Coming home to find one's trusted valet in the costume of a genie was generally not the expected thing among the W. set.  C-ing h. to find Jeeves, of all v.s. thus attired was tanatmount to the pavement outside Berkeley Mansions suddenly transforming into jellied eels. Add to this the manifold attractions of the Jeevesian physique and Bertie was rendered speechless.
> 
> Jeeves, uncharacteristically, had no notion of why his master was behaving oddly.  The J-ain brow q-ed a further eighth of an inch, this time in perplexity.

The young W. opened the ruby lips, closed them and then o-ed them once again. Bertie was not generally a man to ask probing and incisive questions, preferring to skim across the surface of things and then to hammer down the most obvious of points. In this case, however, the s. of t.s. was in fact rather deeper than usual, despite the absence of jellied e.s. “I say, Jeeves, why are you bedecked in those flimsy pink trousers? And those pointy shoes?”  
  
It was not often that Bertie caught Jeeves wrong-footed. The valet froze. His deep blue eyes shifted right, then left. And then he looked down at himself and closed his eyes in a fair approximation of dismay, which he elected to show instead of the deep humiliation he actually felt. “I do apologize for the lapse, sir. There was a meeting of the Junior Babylonians this afternoon and I was anxious to return the flat to normal and begin your dinner.”  
  
Bertie wrinkled his nose and worked his mouth in his most adorably bewildered fashion. Jeeves, distracted from his own feelings by his master's reaction, felt his heart melt. It oozed into a puddle somewhere in the region of his curly-toed fushia shoes as Bertie drew himself up to deliver some masterful oratory. “Ah, thingummy, and rather, I say,” said Bertie, wagging a finger. “That is to say, Jeeves, that I er… Junior Bablyonians?”  
  
Jeeves allowed his eyes to twinkle as Bertie’s eyes wandered back to his bare chest. The slender fingers twitched as he struggled not to determine whether that tanned skin was as silky smooth as it appeared, using the usual scientific method of gentle stroking that he would generally employ in such situations. “Yes, sir. That is veracious. It is a long-standing and highly traditional club for gentlemen’s personal djinns.  I was,” he paused as if shuffling through his fish-fed brain for the correct choice of words, "inducted before I came to London."  
  
The look of a man rummaging in his mind for scripture knowledge emerged on the Wooster countenance. “Djinns? As in Ali Baba and the Aladdin’s lamp?”

The twinkling grew more pronounced. “Something like that, sir. I have been a member for quite some time. My uncle …”  
  
A slender hand went up as if fending off a foe. “Enough uncles, Jeeves.  The Wooster mind is in adequate tumult for one afternoon without any mention of aunts or uncles.”  
  
The t.-ling deepened. “Yes, sir.”  
  
An edge of panic entered the W. voice, and Jeeves could see the s. limbs begin to tremble. “We’ll save that story for a winter’s evening.”  
  
“Of course, sir.”  
  
The young master's eyes trailed down the J. chest once more. “Tell me about these trousers, perhaps. They are quite, ahem, becoming, I, rather.” Jeeves smiled then, a wide and affectionate smile. Bertie paused, then moved forward. “I didn’t know you could, Jeeves.”  
  
Jeeves bent forward to demonstrate something else he could do with the r. l.s.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The image of the brandy is in the public domain. The other, much, much, much more bally fabulously corking images are by laeticiav.


	2. A profusion of pinkness and blueness

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bertie fidns that everything goes a bit... swimmy...
> 
> A big thank-you to Laeticiav for the beautiful, beautiful image.

The press of lips against the damask cheek made Bertie's head swim in the manner of a fish trying to swim through flaming brandy while trying not to grope the firm, round buttocks of any household staff.

The surroundings blurred and a misty image formed in behind the Wooster eyelids.


	3. A perplexing supper

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bertie asks Jeeves a question or two. 
> 
> Jeeves makes it clear that he is not offended by Bertie's preoccupation with his physique.

Bertie clapped a hand to the damask cheek where the imprint of his Djinn qua valet's lips seemed almost to burn.  “Jeeves!” he cried, flushing pinker than a sunburned flamingo. “Did you just kiss the young master?”  The y. m. looked deep into the twinkling blue eyes of the D. q. v. The Jeevesian head shook just the tiniest fraction of an inch. “But you did! That question was rhetor-whastit, dash it!”

Jeeves smoothed the golden hair back into place where it had become mussed. “No, sir, I just kissed Bertram Wilberforce Wooster.” Bertie wrinkled a puzzled nose as he tried to work this through the fuzzy grey matter. “Bertram Wilberforce Wooster, the only master I have ever regarded with genuine affection, the only master who ever really looked at me, the only master who ever treated me as a man.”

“Ah, er,” Bertie lost his way in the depths of Jeeves's blue eyes, then swayed unsteadily on suddenly watery pins as the floor began to jump about like a hyperactive kangaroo. Jeeves tucked a strong hand under a slender arm and another at the slide of the narrow waist. “That is to say, rather,” Bertie continued as his p.s buckled and folded like an accordion, depositing him into his favorite chair.  The room gave a sort of shimmer and Bertie found himself tucked up in bed wearing a very fruity set of purple silk pajamas.  Jeeves entered, now bedecked in the set of flimsy trousers and bearing a tray. Toothsome smells wafted about the bedchamber.

“I took the liberty of preparing a tray with your supper, sir,” said Jeeves, moving to the side table, where a tablecloth was laid and a bottle of wine was sitting open. The tanned, muscular legs peeped from the rents in the sides of the sheer legs of his flowing fushia trousers, and a largish scimitar-type device hung at his side, strapped in place by an azure and emerald sash adorned with curlicues. The gold embroidery and fringe shimmered with the movement.    

“The fushia frippery is still in evidence, Jeeves,” Bertie piped, then cleared his throat as he took in the head band, whose loose ends dangled nearly to the broad, muscular shoulder. He swallowed, rather loudly. Then Jeeves shimmered and was at the side of the bed, inserting willowy limbs into an azure silk robe and slender feet into satin slippers.

“You requested that I explain, sir,” said Jeeves in his usual professional tone as he tied the belt and smoothed the robe into place, his fingers lingering about twice as long as strictly necessary although less long than Bertie might have liked.

“Yes, rather, I, that is to say, quite,” said Bertie, shifting to adjust his pajama trousers as he sat.  Jeeves paused and beamed until Bertie looked back up. “Very well, then, Jeeves, carry on.”

Jeeves bent to lay the table as he spoke, showing tantalizing glimpses of his tanned pins through the open sides of the trousers as he lined the silver and crystal in the manner proscribed by Mrs. Beeton.

The bronzed muscles flexed slightly with the effort of work and Bertie found himself once again wanting to stroke that skin to see if it was a smooth and silky as it appeared. The Jeeves began to speak. “I was born a djinn, a marid, in Babylonia nearly five thousand years ago, a creature of incredible gifts.  I used them unwisely. Most of my younger years were spent in arrogant destruction and selfish pursuits.  Eventually, I angered a potentate of incredible might and influence. More importantly, he was a clever man who had enslaved a marid, a marid who was much more powerful than I. They captured me.”  The Jeevesian countenance went white and he rested his fingers on the tabletop. “They, ah, harmed me, harmed me quite deeply, and a powerful curse was laid upon me. Then I was imprisoned in a vase for three thousand years.  It might have been an eternity, but my liberation was accidentally effected by a group of archaeologists.   I must serve until I fulfill the terms of the curse.”

Bertie paused, a forkful of cutlet dangling before his slack mouth. “But what of the endless stories of aunts and uncles, Jeeves?”

An eyebrow quirked and one of the Jeeveisan ears turned slightly pink. “One of the conditions of the curse was that I was trapped in the body of an infant and forced to grow up as a servant.”  He shifted slightly and Bertie imagined that he was suppressing the sort of shudder one had to suppress when Aunt Agatha engaged one to a sophisticated girl with very big feet and a very small mustache.

Bertie laid down a careful fork. “And what are the terms?”

The Jeevisian lips opened then closed quickly.  He choked and gripped the back of a chair as a purple flush came over his chiseled features.  Bertie rushed to pat him on the back.  “I am not permitted to say, sir.  It is only lately that I have been able to see my own kind and converse with them.  I had to destroy the vessel in which I was imprisoned. A vase.  I thought it had been lost, but you brought it home with you some weeks later.”

Bertie started, sending the fork flying. "That vase?  the one I accidentally bought at auction?"

Jeeves went very still.  His eyes widened and then narrowed. "Accidentally?" He snapped his fingers and a new fork appeared on the table.

"Yes," Bertie looked sheepishly at the table. "I pretended to think it was just a cheerful little bijou, but I have no idea how I bid on it.  But why did you not say..."  An eyebrow went up. "Ah, but then why not break it straightaway?"

"I could not break it except in service to you, sir," he said. "Your, ah, friend," he made the word sound like a curse, "said something disparaging about your intellect."

Bertie ticked through a few things on the slender fingers. “Ah,” Bertie tore his cerulean eyes from the Jeevesian bottom and touched the place on his cheek where Jeeves had kissed him. “And, ah, before, when you, ah, placed the r. lips against the d. cheek, Jeeves. What did that, signify, precisely?  Are you at liberty to divulge to the young master?”

Once again the djinn’s eyes twinkled. “I may divulge enough for current purposes, sir,” he said. "Please believe that I was not compelled to make such declarations."

Bertie thrummed his fingers on the white cloth, considering something. “Then, perhaps, could you, ah, sit and partake, with me? It is not usually the done thing, but I suspect we are rather out of our depth here, and we should, ah, consult on certain matters.”

Jeeves smiled again. “I thank you, sir. I may, if you like it.”

The young master flushed slightly. “I would like it,” he said softly, eyes trained on his plate. “But I, ah, am not certain it is quite preux.  Could you say no if you didn’t like it?”

“I do like it,” said Jeeves looking mild and slightly vulnerable. “I would, very much.” There was another shimmer, and Jeeves set another place for himself, his fingers trembling slightly in a way Bertie had never seen before.

Bertie pretended not to notice that Jeeves had not answered his question.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Image of DjinniJeeves by laeticiav.
> 
> Image from Mrs. Beeton's Book of Household Management (public domain) and photo of Ming pitcher by Marie-Lan Nguyen (2011) licensed under the Creative Commons Attribution 3.0 Unported license.


	4. A mysterious whangee

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jeeves and Bertie find something rummy in the morning. Bertie expresses an opinion about gold hoop earrings. A whangee jogs the Jeevesian memory.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ... yes, keep the eyes peeled for another laeticiav moment... complete with well,not a ripe earring, but headwear

The following ack emma, Bertie settled back in his deep purple silk pajamas and sipped a thoughtful cup of oolong. His bean pondered the events of the preceding evening. 

The y. m. had sat to supper with Jeeves, or as he learned, Rajih Ji-Fahd Ibn Amin Ibn Abdul-Habbab Ibn Abdul-Abbas Ibn Abdul-Dhakiy. Bertie’s mind kept reverting to the appellation “Djeevesie,” but it seemed the greater part of valor to keep such thoughts to himself.  The Agincourt ancestor might look askance at nicknaming servants who were helpless in the throes of magical enchantments.  Most of the meal had been taken up by Jeeves complying with magical requests and describing life in ancient Babylon.  Apparently, he had been a bit of a rabble-rouser, getting in among the Sultan’s harem, fixing camel races, and generally causing embarrassment and mischief among the powerful and mighty of the time. 

All constructive thoughts vaporized as the bare-chested Jeeves, bedecked in shimmering crimson and orange, oozed in with a tray of breakfast.  He had left off the scimitar in favor of a jeweled dagger and was sporting a huge gold hoop earring, which Bertie found a bit ripe.

“Quite the earring,” said Bertie. 

The jewelry vanished in a puff of violet smoke.  Jeeves and Bertie flinched in unison.  Their eyes met in a shared moment of terrified bewilderment.  The cup rattled in Bertie’s saucer. “I say, Jeeves, that is rummy,” Bertie quavered. “I never intended, ah, whatnot.”

Jeeves flickered and was at Bertie’s side, setting down the cup.  “I think, sir, that I may need to obtain some advice. This was most unexpected.”

“Perhaps you can explain what just happened.”

Jeeves looked pale and anxious. “I…” he choked and gasped.  “This has never happened before.”  Then he gulped and began to speak, almost as if the words were being torn from his unwilling throat. “I was closed up in a rude pottery vessel, sealed with wax, and passed along as a great treasure from king to king.  I was set loose to serve and escaped only once, in all that time. After some short time at liberty, I was sealed back up in another vessel under even stronger enchantments, by a sorcerer in the Far East.  The sorcerer said that I would finally have to obey, that obedience was the only way I could… oh, no, please,” he gasped and choked and turned scarlet then crimson then purple. 

Bertie, who had been sitting with his mouth flapping open, grasped a hand. “Please stop, Jeeves.”  Jeeves gasped and collapsed by the foot of the bed, chest heaving.  Bertie rubbed the smooth bare back and fetched the brandy from the next room. He poured two glasses and handed one to the djinn. Jeeves thanked him and drank. “I think, Jeeves, that I would like to help you.”

“Thank-you, sir,” said Jeeves. “Would you like your breakfast now?”

Bertie let Jeeves insert him into a blue silk robe and sat at the table. He pronged up a perplexed forkful of egg and stopped. “You can’t say no to me any longer, can you?”

“No, sir,” said Jeeves.  They shared another look of t-ed b., their hearts each melting at the sight of the other pinched, anxious face. “I cannot say no to you.”

“Rummy that, Jeeves.  What do you think we should do?”

“Sir?”

The willowy young man pulled himself up. “Something changed, didn't it?"  

Jeeves inclined his head. "It would seem so, sir."

"Just as I was oiling in yesterday, I wished that I understood what it was you did while the y. m. was out and about, and how you shimmered about, your wonders to perform.  I never wondered that before.”

Jeeves smiled and Bertie felt himself lean forward, like a seedling following sunlight. “And why did you wonder yesterday, sir?”

Bertie turned pink and rumpled his napkin in his lap. “I am not entirely certain,” he said.  “I, er, was over by the British Museum and I got a new whangee from this rather odd chap, and I wondered if you would approve and…”

The Jeevesian fingers snapped and the whangee was in his hand.  Jeeves looked at the knob.  Inside was a blob of sealing wax bearing an ancient symbol. His face went white, but Bertie was still looking at the embarrassed folds of napkin.  “..actually he traded it for my other whangee, a sort of foreign bloke, you know, said his name was…”

“Balthazar,” said Jeeves in a soft, awed voice.  Bertie looked up and wrinkled his nose.

“How did you know?”

The words came out of the djinn’s mouth as from a long way away.  “He and I were known to each other of old, sir.”


	5. Balthazar

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jeeves sees someone he knew of old. 
> 
> Bertie decides to do some detectoring.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And yet another visitation from laeticiav... genius of the Djeeves doll. Or should I say djeenius?

“You had better dash off and speak with this Balthawhatis chap, then,” Bertie had felt the ‘sitch’ was rather clear, what? Something rummy had taken place because of the strange whangee, so Jeeves would have to speak with the chap who had forked it over. “I’ll sidle down to the club.”

Jeeves had torn his eyes from the whangee. “Thank-you, sir. Do not forget that you have a lunch meeting of the Arts Committee at the Drones Club.”

Bertie’s blue eyes narrowed with a sort of shrewdness Jeeves often suspected but rarely saw. “You look a bit shaken.”

The djinn blinked several times. “I had forgotten so very much, sir. Will you dine in this evening?”

The endearing nose wrinkled. “No, I think, Jeeves.  You had better take the evening off. Gird the loins and whatnot before entering the fray.”

*******

Jeeves prepared carefully for his meeting with Balthazar.  A sudden urge to appear enticing and attractive gripped him, and he found himself decked in flimsy peacock blue linen trousers trimmed with gold coins, a belt and vest of supple deep purple covered with intricate embroidery.  The clothes felt familiar and comforting, deeply comforting, as if he had awoken in the arms of a long-lost lover.

He examined the script. Hieroglyphics and cuneiform. He wished he could remember how to read them.  A puff of lemon yellow smoke covered the writing. Then his eyes blurred and focused as he read the script, the words and images coming to him as from a long way away.   

_“This beautiful boy is watched over by the love of the Ifrit Balthazar. Harm to him is harm to Balthazar.”_  

 

Jeeves felt head buzz with long-forgotten information. Balthazar.  His mentor.  His master. His friend. 

His lover. 

Balthazar.

An Ifrit. 

The most powerful of magical creatures.

Balthazar, who had lost him, or forgotten him in his time of greatest need.  Balthazar who had promised to protect a great treasure, one Jeeves no longer quite remembered.  Balthazar, who had freed him once before, but had been too weak to protect him from that Eastern sorcerer.

Things had been different in those times.  Young men were often the lovers of their elders.  It would not prevent them taking the love of women as well.

Jeeves frowned.  He had been a slave in Babylon.  Something else had happened.  Something he could not remember. 

Something that had to do with Mr. Wooster. 

 ***** 

Bertie ambled toward the Drones club, swinging a thoughtful whangee.  The circ.s were rummy. Dashed rummy. Now who was the chap he’d known at Eton?  Pasty-faced young bloke.  Terribly brainy.  Mother always shipped him those tasty biscuits.

Thick spectacles.  Specky.

Specky Masterson-Todd.

Bertie hailed a cab and whizzed over to the University.  Specky loved to talk about things that interested him.  This time perhaps Bertie would try to listen and understand. 

***** 

Balthazar, huge and handsome and powerful, and dressed in a crisply tailored dark suit, beamed like a sunbeam when Jeeves walked out beside the huge five-legged creatures that had once adorned a temple at Ninevah. A temple built hundreds of years after Jeeves had been trapped in a bottle. Jeeves felt his knees buckle, and suddenly strong arms were around him, pressing him against a broad chest.

“Rajih!  Habibi! How good of you to come to Paris to see me.”  Balthazar kissed him again and again and Jeeves rested against his former master. It felt as if he had come home after a long, terrible ordeal, but at the same time he had a sense that Balthazar had rarely been affectionate like this with him.  “I have missed you so, my young love.”

Somehow, Jeeves managed to stand and move back, and then he was in the clothing that marked him as the property of this powerful being.  Balthazar kept hold of one of his hands, fingered the purple vest. “You remembered this? It was so long ago.  You were always so pleasing to me, even after I freed you.”  His voice trailed off as helpless tears began to trickle down Jeeves’s face.  The Ifrit cupped the side of Jeeves’s face in a hand and kissed the top of his head. “Poor love.  You likely don’t understand what is happening, do you?”

Jeeves shook his head, then looked up and gasped.  He and Balthazar were each six inches tall and perched atop the huge statue. The Ifrit was wearing orange and gold, the same outfit Jeeves had worn earlier that day.  Blankets and cushions had been laid out with an attractive meal.  “Sit, lovely boy,” said Balthazar. Jeeves sank down, and Balthazar rested beside him, slipped an arm around his waist.  “Do you mind?  I… have missed you so horribly, beautiful boy.  I have been so worried for you.”

“The Junior Babylonians said you were still imprisoned.” 

Balthazar blushed.  “After a fashion, love.  That hateful sorcerer.  The one who trapped you in that hideous Ming atrocity.  He bound me to Ninevah. Trapped amid the ruins of the once second-rate.” 

Jeeves shook himself.  “They are afraid.  Afraid to go near the museum.”  Balthazar smiled gleefully.

“As well they should be, Rajih.  I am still very dangerous. And some of them have...taken advantage of my confinement.”

“I have been there…”

Balthazar turned pink.  “I was embarrassed to see you.  I had failed you.”  He bent to open a jar of yogurt. “Thank goodness for these unimaginative races, Rajih.  They are like jackals after the scraps of lions, but so constant in their diggings and delvings. Such a passion for these odds and ends.”  Balthazar gave Jeeves another squeeze and kissed his cheek.  “Here, love, eat.  Drink.  I found a bottle of vintage you will enjoy.”

“Thank-you,” said Jeeves accepting the plate and glass.  The word ‘master,’ tickled his tongue, but that was not correct.  Mr. Wooster was his master now.

Balthazar kept talking and Jeeves felt that he was filling the air with chat to give him time to think. “I spend a great deal of time here, in this Paris. I can go, not terribly far outside the walls connected to this place, but far enough…”

“Can I help you? Can anyone?” asked Jeeves.  Balthazar’s eyes filled.  He squeezed Jeeves’s hand.

“You always were a thoughtful child, my Rajih,” he beamed, sipping his own wine.  “But I am in need of no help, love.  Not now that I found what you need.  The dust of Ninevah has spread so far that I can go wherever I like in the old countries now.  I have any number of agreeable lovers.  And these ‘museums.’ So interesting.”

Jeeves sipped his wine and sampled his baba ganoush.  Memory came flooding back with the flavor. “You are bound as long as I am bound?”

Balthazar looked suddenly angry. “Evil fool,” he spat.  “Vile creature.  I lost track of your treasure for so long.  It was sheer luck that I happened across it again.”

Memories flooded back as that once-familiar voice spoke.  Jeeves shuffled through images of camel races and harems, of that dangerous man and the marid who had captured him.  He remembered no treasure. “Treasure? I know there was something, but I do not remember.”

The voice was gentle. “Your boy, Rajih.  The golden boy.  The one we quarreled over all those years ago.  You had such love for him, such softness.  I was jealous, so jealous.  And afraid.  He made you so weak. We had ever been hard, creatures of might and power.  Daring.  I felt so much for you, my pleasing boy, but it was safer to keep you hard.”

It was like a blow. Jeeves wrinkled his nose and let his mouth flap open.  Balthazar melted.  Carefully, he set aside their plates and glasses. He got one arm around Jeeves before he began to sob.  “Ah! You do remember. There, there, my darling boy. Balthazar is sorry. You needn’t worry now, Rajih.  You have what remains. Or it has you.  I found what remains.”

It took rather a long time before Jeeves understood what Balthazar was saying.

“This Wooster, Rajih.  He is the son of the son of the son of … ever so many… but he is one of the last of the sons of your golden boy.” Jeeves looked up.  Balthazar brushed the tears from his face. “Darling child.  Now let us eat and you can tell me about this new life you have found. Do you enjoy it?”

Jeeves took up his plate and looked into the face of the powerful being who had been his protector for five thousand years. “I do enjoy it.  I enjoy it very much.”

Balthazar beamed.  “Good. Now tell me about your days.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Image of Jeeves in tourquoise and purple by laeticiav
> 
> Image of Ninevah statues in the Louvre from Wikipedia by Poulpy. licensed under the Creative Commons Attribution-Share Alike 3.0 Unported license.


	6. Thought for the future

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After a long day of detectoring, Bertie learns that it was scandalous the way these ancients destroyed items that could have become valuable antiquities. 
> 
> Afterward, Bertie makes a wish. The bath becomes rather crowded and splashy.
> 
> Jeeves asks an important question.

Bertie tipped himself into a contemplative bathtub after a rather scaly visit with Specky.  Now Dr. Specky.

The greeting had wanted the touch of the long lost comrade. “Wooster.  I hear you let your manservant destroy a Ming vase.  How you got it for so little at that auction is beyond me.” He muttered something to himself that sounded like “stupid bounder” but a Wooster has a Code after all and wisely did not hear.

“I, ah, came to seek your wise counsel and whatnot, Specky,” Wooster dashed boldly onto the pin where angels feared to dance.  “Matter of bijous and doo-dads and whatsit.”

“I hope you at least saved the pieces, Wooster.”

“You see, there has been a spot of bother in re: some crockery.  Assyr-thingummy, and I thought you might…”  Specky’s face held the sort of look that characterized Tuppy Glossop shortly after hearing that Anatole had made a steak and kidney pie.

The ensuing barrage, or onslaught, of scholarly prose had been rather more dense than “Types of Ethical Theory.”  All very true, and all that, but really not gripping. Bertie was only glad he did not have a morning head. 

There are some blokes who become obsessed with things.  They natter at length, never caring very much who is listening. Specky was such a bloke.

Bertie pasted on the expression he had found useful when Gussie Fink-Nottle began to explain what he knew about the newt and its treatment in sickness and in health.

Snippets of chat buzzed to the surface here and there. “…and then, just a few months ago, we came across this old scroll.  Tells the story of a servant of Balthazar…” A feeling like an electrical current on the run from an irate Roderick Spode raced up and down the Wooster spine. Could it have been Jeeves?

“… he was a well-known king, I am sure even you must recall, Bertie… but the servant, that is a new name, even to me. I have it here.  Rajih Ji-Fahd, the servant, that is.”  Yes.  It was Jeeves. Bertie closed the peepers, but Specky droned on.

“The scroll is fragmented in places.  We’ve employed a new technology—they used it on those Dead Sea Scrolls.  Scotch Tape, it’s called.”  Bertie felt his eyes glaze over like twin hams under the hands of Anatole as Scotch Tape was described in lengthy and unnecessary detail. 

Eventually Specky changed the subject and Bertie wrenched his attention back to the present.

Specky rummaged among his notes.  “I have some photographic prints here…  Yes.  It says he was a marid.  That’s a type of water djinni, so we assume it means he was a gifted sailor, since there are no such thing as djinni.”  That explained Jeeves’s liking for the shore and boats and fishing.

“He had a child, a golden child, it says, and he was taken captive trying to protect it.  They say he was sealed in a bottle under a powerful curse.  There’s a rendering here.”  He flapped a print at Bertie, who let the slender digits close on it. 

The blood congealed throughout the willowy form like the grease left over after a plate of toothsome eggs and b. anywhere that Jeeves was not.  Grease never congealed on plates in the Jeevesian presence.  The image looked exactly like the seal in his new whangee.

“….complete nonsense, of course. One can only assume he was killed by his enemies and his ashes sealed up.  It says that only the person Balthazar chooses can break the curse…”  Bertie watched his hand tremble.

“Curse? But surely, Specky, that is not, er, whatsit?”

Specky looked at Bertie sharply. Then he blinked. “You’re brighter than you look, Wooster.  As I said, complete nonsense.  But it says that only that person can break the curse and free the servant.  There’s something else about the golden boy, being chopped into bits and strewed across the known world.” Bertie felt his insides flip over. “Probably some sort of idol… broken down for its gold. Scandalous the way these ancients destroyed what could have become valuable antiquities. No thought for the future.”

“Ah, gold?”

Aunt Agatha would have quailed before the schoolmarm look that Specky leveled at his former schoolfellow. “Now, about that destroyed vase, Wooster….” Ming-related information washed over Bertie.  He got the idea that the vase must have been made a long time after Jeeves was sealed in his bottle. “You did me any number of good turns at Eton, Wooster, so I will be patient.  Please bring the pieces here if you still have them.  Hopefully there has been some mistake and it was mislabeled.”

 

Bertie rolled all this over the lemon as he rested in the sudsy water and absent-mindedly started to touch himself in a rather outré location.  It had been some days since he had adequate privacy to see to himself and he let his thoughts wander across the more tempting morsels of pulchritude he had seen lately.  He let the bean loll back as an image of desire floated behind his closed eyelids.  Jeeves, bare-chested and bare-legged.  How Bertie wished he could see the rest of his manservant, the bits under wraps.  Too bad Bertie could not ask, not with Jeeves unable to say no. Then he remembered that bally earring disappearing in a puff of purple smoke.

There was a puffing noise.

“Oh dash it!”

The blue eyes flew open.  In the midst of a cloud of bright orange smoke, Jeeves, naked, hovered over him, a look of stunned surprise playing across his chiseled features.

Bertie began to babble apologies as Jeeves dropped into the tub, sending water all over the bathroom. “Deuced sorry and all that.”  Their bare limbs tangled together, wet and soapy.

Jeeves caught his weight on his knees and leaned back as Bertie, blushing nearly maroon, tried to hide himself behind a facecloth. 

The djinn grabbed Bertie by both sides of his face. “No! Sir!”  Bertie dropped the facecloth.  “Do not wish it!”

The nose crinkled. “What?” Then a thought darkened the Wooster brow. He had nearly wished he could die of embarrassment. The blue eyes closed in dismay. “Thank-you, Jeeves.”

“May I…?”  Bertie looked up, expecting to encounter an angry, shamed Jeeves, but the e.s met instead a handsome, nude man exuding a sort of amused fondness.  And dripping water and suds.  Bertie tried again to cover himself with the facecloth.

“Of course. Just so, Jeeves,” Bertie found himself wrapped up in his toweling robe and tucked into his favorite chair with his new book and the afternoon whiskey.  There was a subdued ‘pop’ and Jeeves appeared next to the chair, dressed in deep greens and blues. Instead of a vest, a sheer sash crossed his broad chest.

“Yes, Jeeves, what is it?”

“Will that be all, sir?  You granted me the evening, and I was occupied when you, ah, summoned me.”

“Of course, of course, Jeeves. I, ah, dashed embarrassing, what?”

“As you say, sir.  The table is laid for your supper if you wish it.  Just lift the lids.”

“Just so, Jeeves.”  As Jeeves disappeared, Bertie pulled out the pile of photographs Specky had given him.

 

******* 

Jeeves shimmered and then opened the door to his lair. 

He blinked, then gasped in surprise. 

Sumptuous draperies and hangings met his eye, even before he realized that he had stepped into a huge room with a balcony that overlooked what looked like ancient Baghdad. Balthazar stepped out from behind a swathe of golden fabric. “The dust of Ninevah,” he said in answer to the unspoken question. "It travelled very far in all this time."

“How is this possible?”

Balthazar shrugged.  “We all have the power to move space and time, Rajih.  It has a cost, but we have the power.”

Jeeves raised an eyebrow, then walked to the edge of the balcony.  The buildings and streets were made of painted wood and clay. “Do we?”

Laughter sounded.  “No, darling boy. Or at least not in that way.  I built this place to amuse myself.”

“Where are we?”

“In the space behind those dreadful baboons.”  Jeeves smiled. Then Balthzar pulled out the outfit Jeeves had been wearing before he vanished in a puff of smoke.

“He likes you, then, this Wooster? Have you been pleasuring him that he summons you naked to him?”

Jeeves stammered and blushed. “Tell me what happened. To my boy.”

A bleak greyness flashed on Balthazar's face. “I do not want... to disturb your rest. Ask your master what he did this afternoon.” The ifrit poured a glass of wine. “You were so young when you came to me, Rajih. Always I will want to protect you.”

Jeeves remembered then, the fear and anguish he had felt during his imprisonment.  Something terrible had happened to him, something harmful.  And Balthazar had abandoned him. “Then why did you not come to me….”

The ifrit shrugged. “I came as soon as I could find you. I was protecting what you loved more than yourself.”

A nose wrinkled in confused dismay.  Balthazar felt his heart melt, but he held his ground this time. “I do not understand.”

Balthazar had enjoyed the feeling of holding and comforting his Rajih, but he could not renew their bond. Not as it had been all those centuries before.  Too much had happened, and things were very different now. Rajih was still so very young, and he enjoyed this new life. Perhaps he could take his comfort elsewhere, at least for now. “Ask your young master.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Image from: http://www.louvre.fr/en/oeuvre-notices/four-baboons-adoring-rising-sun


	7. Lemon fizz

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bertie reels home after a cheerful supper and interrupts a Jeevesian nightmare about his past.

 

Bertie staggered through a wobbly doorway in the wee hours.   The lemon fizzed pleasantly after a sprightly little supper with a few pals.  The pins became entangled with the cane of Wooster, the dress scarf of Wooster, the hat stand of Wooster, and the Chesterfield of Wooster, but Bertie, being confident in the manly abilities of the Last of the Woosters, forged bravely ahead.  As he tipped over the ottoman of Wooster, losing a stud or two, a thought pierced the cerebral fizziness. 

Where had Jeeves gotten to?

Normally he would already be steering the young master toward the bedchamer of Wooster with a firm hand at the small of the back of Wooster.

A muffled sort of noise from the Jeevesian lair sobered the l. of the W.s. Something was happening to the paragon of valets.

 

****** 

Earlier that evening, Jeeves had emptied a bottle of vintage.  The name Reginald Jeeves was a mockery, a dark, unhappy joke.  It was the name of a new, young creature just starting life.  A young creature who had just discovered his nature and fallen in love for the first time.  And now his past had come flooding back, invading his dreams and breaking his heart.

When Jeeves was born, the people of the Nile were the greatest of the humans. Gods still roamed the earth.  He never knew a mother or father, only his master Balthazar, a creature already thousands of years old.  At first he had been called Nissi, short for ‘blue-eyed boy.’ Blue eyes were rare and remarkable in those days. His true name was never spoken.  Names had power.

The young marid had learned the ways of his master, growing up as a favored son and then becoming a treasured lover, first among those who depended on the good will of the ifrit. Balthazar had been generous and not unkind, but never soft and rarely gentle.

Balthazar called his charge exotic, with his eyes the color of the seas. The young djinn was a creature of incredible strength, nearly as powerful as his master. He shone like polished diamond, eagerly learning all the languages of spirits and men, the summoning of storms, the ways of trickery and of war. He visited the gods themselves and played at their games.  He was thoughtlessly unaware of his own good fortune. Life had gone on in that way for two thousand years. And then the boy had come to him. Everything changed in an instant.

Hungry, as always, for new entertainments, Balthazar’s warriors had brought home a group of the golden-haired men from the north. They were reputed to be great fighters and sailors, men with knowledge to impart. Daring men who sailed around the world in tiny boats, guided by the stars and their own wits. Brave men who endured the icy snows of the north and the monsters who lived there.  Valiant men who tore whales from the seas. All the house of Balthazar had been raised to respect courage. 

Nissi had waited in the receiving room beside his master, to see these fantastic beings. He had heard that they had blue eyes like his. They were unlike anything he had ever seen, chiefly because they were covered by a great deal of battered armor, matted fur, grease, blood stains, and dirt.  Then the eldest warrior stumbled and there was a whimper. A younger man held him up and they adjusted the bundle under his cloak. He was hiding a child there, a little boy, not quite old enough to walk. 

The warriors handled it carefully, like fragile porcelain that might shatter. Never had Nissi wanted anything so much. In his eagerness he grasped his master’s hand without thinking. Balthazar had turned, and watched his blue-eyed boy fall in love with the white-skinned, golden-haired child. Nissi never forgot the feel of that fond hand at his bare waist or the breath in his ear. “Yes, my darling, of course you may have the child, but be careful. Do not get too attached to it. You know how fragile these humans can be.”

Nissi had walked forward and reached out, but the child clung to the old warrior. The remaining men had surrounded them protectively, heedless of the bristling array of spears held by Balthazar’s guards. Then the old man looked into Nissi’s blue eyes, and his mouth dropped open.  They had not expected to see light eyes in this place. The old man’s level look told the djinn that he would die before he allowed harm to come to the child.

Nissi looked back at his master. Balthazar had laughed then, and, much to the amusement of his own warriors, come forward and kissed his boy soundly, then swatted his bottom. “Take them all, my beautiful boy. Breed yourself a household of blue eyes.” The warriors had looked quizzically at each other during this exchange, then drew more closely together as the room emptied. No mortals could harm a marid, except perhaps by their unpleasant unwashed smell.

The marid brought the group to his own rooms. At first, the warriors refused to bathe. Nissi had them fed, knowing that the women would see to more mundane matters. The child could not be coaxed from the old man’s sight. For the first time, the marid had to be patient and gentle.  He began by healing the old man’s wounds. Gradually, over the course of many months, an uneasy friendship had grown up. The warriors had, slowly, chosen lives for themselves in this new world of sun and year-round greenery.

The old warrior never revealed his name or the child’s. Names have power, he explained. “But you know this, already, I see. I do not know what you have become in this place. I do not care. Promise to care for my golden boy. His brothers can look after themselves, but he is soft. Be gentle with him.”

Nissi had promised. The child had warmed to him by then, a soft, fragile thing, liking to cuddle. Too soon, the child had become a man, had fallen in love with a young woman. And that was how they had captured him, the djinni that young Nissi had angered during his two thousand years of thoughtless mischief.  They used the girl to capture his boy, his tender, delicate, affectionate boy. The marid tried to save him, but the last thing he had seen before he was sealed up in the bottle had been the mutilated corpse. Nissi’s spirit had been crushed. He had wept for a century, and then, eventually, Balthazar had freed him and gave him a new name.  The powerful sorcerer had wanted to destroy him, but without a name, he could only be contained.

“You must learn obedience, the cost of obedience.” Those had been the last words Rajih heard before he was enclosed in the ugly vessel, before he was born back into a life of servitude.

He wept and when sleep came to him, he dreamed of a carpet ride.

 

******

Bertie hovered outside the door to the Jeevesian lair.  The muffled sound was almost like whimpering. He wished he knew how to scoop Jeeves from the soup of distress.

And then he did.

He ankled in and Jeeves bolted awake from a bed swathed with crimsons and golds.  Bertie flushed at the sight of that muscular chest.

“Dash it, Jeeves,” said Bertie. “Was it fun?  Was it fun to be a djinn?”

Jeeves rubbed the sleep from his eyes, then rested his bare arm on a bare knee.  Bertie had never seen anything so incredibly sexy as that tousled hair, that smooth tanned skin, that vulnerable expression.  Or he thought he hadn’t. Jeeves tilted his head and smiled a mischievous smile.  His eyes twinkled and Bertie felt his lips part.  Now that was much, much sexier. “Yes, sir. Very entertaining.”

They smiled at each other, faces glowing with warmth and friendship. “Would you show me?”

“With the greatest of pleasure, sir.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes... even more of the genius of laeticiav...


	8. A nice, big shiny cow

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bertie and Jeeves take an enchanted ride.

Bertie squawked in what he hoped was a bold and masculine fashion when Jeeves shimmered up from the bright folds of fabric wearing only a brief linen loincloth. Jeeves gave a soft laugh and snapped his fingers.

A huge puff of pink smoke billowed up into the room and when it cleared, the pair were standing together on an oversized silver tray, balanced atop the Houses of Parliament.  Jeeves stood, arms folded and legs shoulder-width apart, still in his night apparel.

“I say!” said Bertie, now clad in loose linen trousers, and a wide blue belt embroidered with bees.  “Topping view.”

“It is accounted quite amazing, sir.” Bertie nearly swooned when Jeeves turned his head to meet his master’s bashful gaze.  An eyebrow lifted when the djinn realized that Bertie was looking at his nearly naked form and not at the panorama before them. Jeeves smiled and Bertie thought he could see three thousand years into the past.  “Shall I show you something even more remarkable?”

“Yes,” said Bertie, fiddling with the ends of his sash, which turned pink (in a puff of violet smoke), then mauve (in a puff of emerald green smoke), then heliotrope with gold stripe (in a puff of fushia smoke), before settling back to blue (in a puff of orange smoke).    

Then Jeeves snapped his fingers again and the tray folded itself up around them into the shape of a cow creamer.  Dark draperies and cushions appeared, and Jeeves motioned for Bertie to sit, then settled beside him.

“Rather!” said Bertie as the creamer slowly lifted and moved along the Thames, leaving the brightly-colored wisps of smoke behind them.

“Your cities are magnificent, sir,” said Jeeves, “but I would like to show you where I once lived. If I may?”

Bertie shivered in the night air and Jeeves moved closer, pulling a dark wrap around him. “Corking. Thank-you, Jeeves,” said Bertie, shifting slightly closer.  Jeeves left a hand at the side of the slender waist.

The cow creamer sailed south over London and across the channel, over Paris and then over Rome and Athens before swooping over the Mediterranean.  The pair reminisced about their visits to the various cities and towns, drawing ever more closely together. Eventually the pair had pressed their sides together along the length of their bodies, and the cow creamer fetched up outside the ruins of Babylon.  Jeeves snapped his fingers and a splendid house appeared amid acres of greenery.

“This is where I once lived,” said Jeeves, helping Bertie out of the creamer, which reflected the sunlight like an earth-bound bovine moon.   They wandered, standing slightly too close together, through the vast chambers to a smaller set of rooms.  Jeeves waved a hand and the room filled with cushions and throws. A pleasant breakfast of fruits and nuts and grains materialized on a low table inlaid with an intricate pattern of cows and hieroglyphs and cuneiform.  “You must be hungry, sir. There would have been slaves then, but such things are not done today.”  Jeeves explained the dishes.

“Topping,” said Bertie, licking honey from his fingers. They reclined and ate. “Rather cozy place, what?”

“When I came to stay with Balthazar, it was accounted a great house.”

“Very scenic,” said Bertie, trying to unstick his fingers from the fringe on one of the cushions. “These tiles are quite appealing.  I rather thought we would be going to where you were from, what?”

“I don’t remember anything from before this time,” said Jeeves, flicking his fingers.  A bowl of beaten gold appeared and Jeeves took Bertie’s hand and dipped it into a scented bath. The fringe unstuck from the slender fingers.  “It was splendid.”  Bertie listened while Jeeves described life in ancient Babylon.

“I do wish we knew where you came from,” said Bertie, eventually.

The next few seconds were rather muddled, and then Jeeves was levering Bertie up from the cold, clammy, black mud of a fjord. The cow creamer was wedged, face down, between two trees, and the cushions and draperies were scattered everywhere.  Jeeves snapped his fingers. Everything righted itself and he was dressed in a linen tunic and tight leather leggings, a sword strapped at his waist and a heavy woolen cloak pinned at his shoulders.  His dark hair hung in long braids at either side of his head and down to the middle of his back.

Bertie, surrounded by a puff of lemon-colored smoke and now dressed in lilac linen trousers with a deep heliotrope belt, stumbled on something.  “I say, Jeeves, this is rummy,” he prised a battered bit of pottery from the ground.  “It’s rather like that whatsit that Specky showed me.”

Jeeves took the shard from Bertie’s fingers.  His face went grey. “Balthazar,” he said.

“The whangee chap?”

Jeeves chuckled.  “Yes, sir, the whangee chap.”

“This is a fjord, Jeeves, is it not?”

“It appears so, sir.”

“Then you do have a Viking strain in there somewhere? I thought so.”

Jeeves paused. “I was long born before the Vikings sailed, sir, but I believe you may be correct.”

They walked through the damp woods without speaking. Jeeves let Bertie set the pace and soon they came upon the moldering ruins of a great hall. “This should not still be here,” said Jeeves, his voice doing that thing where it sounded like it was coming from a long way away. He snapped his fingers and the cow creamer appeared again. Bertie exclaimed, then shivered.  Jeeves moved forward and opened his cloak. “We should go, sir.”

Then the trees rustled and an old man dressed in battered armor and a dented metal helmet limped out of the forest.  Jeeves remembered the grizzled old warrior who had entrusted the golden child to him three thousand years before. “I wondered when you would remember us.” He pointed toward the creamer with a heavy sword and smiled, the type of fond expression a father would bestow on an errant child. “I see you finally found yourself a nice, big, shiny cow, just like you wanted.”

Jeeves stepped protectively between the man and Bertie. “I owe you an apology. I failed the child.”

The old man’s mouth fell open. “How is it that you always surprise me? Even as a little boy, you never did what we expected. You didn’t fail, young Nissi, as you were called.  That ifrit you freed saved him.”

Jeeves staggered. “He was saved?”

The old man nodded. “Oh, yes. And it was your doing. It is I who should apologize for failing you.” His voice trailed off as he looked over Jeeves’s shoulder at Bertie, who had tangled himself up in a wrap from the cow creamer.  He laughed softly.  “You care for this one?” His eyes twinkled.  “He sees you rightly.”

“Yes,” said Jeeves. “I care for this one.”  Bertie toppled over, banging his head on the side of the cow creamer with a sort of ‘gong’ sound.  By the time Jeeves had helped him up, the old man was gone.

“I couldn’t help overhearing, Jeeves.  I rather thought Balthazar was your master, not the other way around.”

“I rather did as well, sir,” said Jeeves, pulling off his cloak and wrapping it around Bertie’s bare back and chest.  He deposited the shard of pottery in a pocket. “Are you warm enough?”

Bertie looked up and their eyes met.  Jeeves leaned forward.  Gently, he cupped his master’s face in a hand and pressed his lips against a mouth that still tasted of honey and dates.

 


	9. Mutual indulgence

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The cow creamer becomes the site of some tender affection.

Bertie took Jeeves’s free hand.  “I believe you kissed the young master, what?” He leaned back into the fingers that had slipped into the golden hair at the nape of his neck.

“I believe I have, sir,” Jeeves moved forward again to murmur into the shell like ear, then nibbled it gently for good measure. Bertie squeezed the hand and pressed the ruby lips against a damask cheek.

“It’s lovely, Jeeves, so lovely, but…not preux. I wish you were free, free of the curse, free of me, free of everything.”

Jeeves went completely, utterly still and they stood together, cheek to cheek. “And so I am, sir,” he said finally, stroking the g. hair. “It was your doing. I thought you knew.”

“Whatsit?”

Jeeves pressed his lips to the damask cheek. “I am.” Kiss. “Free.” Kiss. “Free of the curse, free of servitude, free of everything.”  He paused, then pressed his lips to Bertie’s forehead. “For myself, at least.”

“But, er, what… how?”

“You darling man,” whispered Jeeves, putting an arm about the willowy waist and pulling the young master close for a face full of kisses. “You wished it.”

“What?  I would have expected a puff of golden smoke or whatnot…”

Jeeves wrapped the other strong arm about his young master.  “There was, sir.  You wished it.  While you were walking to meet your friends. You wished ‘all this curse and servitude whatnot’ was ‘bally well sorted’ so you didn’t feel like ‘such a cad’ what with your ‘longing for the Jeevesian corpus,’ I believe. You wished that I ‘bally well knew,” so we could ‘scoop each other out of the mulligatawny.’ And you also wished for this…”  He kissed the r. lips.

Bertie rested his head on the broad shoulder. “I did wish that. I do wish it. Then why are you still here?  Why not be out sorting out that last bit? Or raising Cain?  Or going to Goodwood and sweeping up?”

Jeeves snapped his fingers.  A great puff of sparkling smoke enveloped them and when it cleared, they were together wrapped in purple, violet and mauve linens, tucked into the back of the cow creamer.  “Whatsit, Jeeves?” Bertie leaned up on an elbow and stroked Jeeves’s long, dark hair, which hung in glossy curls around his face.

“This is how I wore my hair in Babylon, sir,” said Jeeves.  “At least… in private.” Bertie looked up and started. The cow creamer was wedged into an upper tier of the Eiffel Tower. Below them, the city of Paris twinkled in the twilight, the ribbon of the Seine glinting below them.  Jeeves pulled the slender body close, and Bertie moaned softly as the skins on their chests came together, stroking down Jeeves’s side to a bare leg.  He mustered the pipes.

“You didn’t answer me.”

“Sir?”  Jeeves pulled aside the covers, revealing the linen loincloth, taut against his straining member.  Bertie swallowed a lump the approximate size and shape of Mesopotamia.

“You are bally gorgeous. I want you…I have never wanted anything or anyone more. You must know that.  You blasted know everything else. But I wanted you to be free. Why are you still here?”

Jeeves ran the back of his fingers down Bertie’s naked breast to the waist of his loose linen trousers, then leaned forward and kissed him again. The slender man made an urgent noise as their legs tangled. “You taste like honey. Dates and honey.”

“Honey,” Bertie murmured, arching an eyebrow and rolling to straddle his man.  The dark curls spilled across the silky pillows.  Bertie bent forward, but Jeeves raised himself up in a fluid motion and cupped the golden head in his hands.  “Why? Will you tell me? Please?”

“I love you,” said Jeeves.  Bertie smiled and buried his hands in the long glossy hair.

“Topping,” said Bertie. “Might we repair somewhere more private?”

Jeeves waved a hand and then they were in the bedroom at Berkeley Mansions.

“I say, Jeeves, do we have to stay in this cow creamer?  Wouldn’t the bed be more whatsit?”

Jeeves grinned and shook his head, then bent forward to nibble the slender neck. “Would you indulge me in this?”

Bertie ran a hand over the smooth, hairless chest and Jeeves closed his eyes, making a soft rumbling noise. “May I wear the pink tie with the heather mixture lounge?” Bertie murmured into the shell like ear and wiggled his hips into the Jeevesian lap. “Would you indulge me in that, perhaps, what?” Jeeves snorted, then opened one eye.

“You are intoxicating, but I cannot possibly…” Bertie wrigged again and Jeeves groaned deeply, flinging his head back. “Would you consider a pink silk dressing gown instead?”

“Rather!”  They kissed for a very long time.  Then Jeeves lay back and wiggled his hips, easing the loincloth away from his straining member. Bertie’s breath caught in the back of his throat.  “You haven’t any hair…” he breathed.

Jeeves smiled again.  “It was considered more… attractive,” he said.

“But, erm, I, ah, whatsit…” blushed Bertie. Jeeves levered him down and kissed him.

“Please?” he breathed, pulling at the waist of the linen trousers.  “May I?”

“Of course, old top,” said Bertie.  A muddle of skin and kisses and soft words resolved eventually into the two collapsed stickily across each other, chests heaving.  Jeeves pulled a throw around them and they subsided into a gentle sleep.

 


	10. The Stunning Conclusion

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jeeves and Bertie come to an understanding of sorts. The merits of consorting with nymphs are debated. Jewelry is exchanged.

**Fifty years later**

Jeeves lay awake, gazing at the stars through the window of the flat he had shared with his lover for several decades. Bertie lay across his body, the once-golden head resting on the broad shoulder.  He had wished to live among his friends and family in the metrop that he loved, and Jeeves could not argue with that. 

It would break his heart if Bertie were to die. They had watched each of the friends and family members age and wither and die.  Only Angela remained of the old set, a tottering feeble woman now, and wandering in her mind.  She hadn’t known anyone but Bertie for years and in the last few weeks had forgotten him as well. 

Jeeves had thought it might be time for them to go and make a life for themselves elsewhere.  “I could make you young again and stronger.” 

Bertie had patted the Jeevesian shoulder. “No, no, old top. I’ve had a word with old Balthie and it’s all sorted.  Don’t you fret or frown.” 

With each passing day, the last of the Woosters seemed to fade.  Jeeves remembered the day the Drones Club had closed.  Bertie, never one to let the upper lip tremble, had sobbed in his arms.  He let himself smooth the grey hair away from his lover’s beautiful face. 

Bertie lifted his head, and brushed a tear from the damask cheek.  “Reg? Are you ill?” 

Jeeves smiled warmly.  In these hours together, he always looked young and tanned and fit as Bertie had always liked.  It was enough to appear old and slow during the day. “No, beloved. Only melancholy.” 

“You’re crying,”  said Bertie. 

“Only a little,” said Jeeves. 

“These are tears.” 

“Yes.” 

“Indicating sadness?” 

A sort of soft rumbling chuckle sounded in the broad, tan chest. “Or melancholy.  Yes.” 

“Have I done this?  Made you cry?” 

Jeeves kissed the puckered forehead and rubbed the narrow back.  “You needn’t worry about me. Go back to sleep and in the morning I will make you bacon and eggs.” 

“You’re crying.”  Bertie had never got over this need to repeat things again and again.  Twenty years earlier, Jeeves would have become exasperated about now, but with Bertie’s failing health, even these irritations had become extremely precious. 

“I love you,” said Jeeves. He bit his lip and suppressed a sob. 

“Oh!”  Bertie moved to hold his stronger lover. “Oh, Reggie, I had no idea you were taking it like this.  I didn’t want to be a fly in your ointment of immortality, getting in the way of consorting with nymphs and whatnot.” 

“Nymphs?”  Jeeves sat up and turned on the light.  “Nymphs?!” The stuffed frog emerged in the sort of wrathful awfulness the last of the Woosters had hoped would end with the demise of Aunt Agatha.  Bertie quailed a bit, but manfully held his ground. Or bedclothes. Agincourt still told. “Why would anyone who had loved you for fifty years ever consider consorting with a nymph?” 

Bertie boggled a bit and started.  “Nor any whatnots?” 

“I’m going to sleep in my lair,” Jeeves announced, standing up and clasping his hands into fists. 

“You are so rippingly beautiful when you’re angry,” said Bertie admiringly.  “Just breathtaking.”  Jeeves covered the ripping physique with a flannel robe and oozed out. 

It was the work of a few moments for Bertie to find his robe and slippers and shuffle after him.  He found the paragon of manservants face down in the old bed, weeping into the pillow.  “I’m sorry,” he said, stroking the glossy dark curls.  “Please don’t cry.  I’ll do whatever you like.” 

The reply was a bit muffled by the pillow. “Don’t leave me here all alone.” 

“I hardly want to, Reggie, but Balthy says you’re a god, going to live forever.  I’m not sure Wooster is made for this immortality wheeze.  I’m such a frightful old man now.  I haven’t understood how you stand it.” 

“I love you,” said Jeeves. 

“What if you get tired of Bertram?  What will happen if the prattling gets on your nerves, rankles and annoys.  Oh, I know you feel sad now, but I recall not so long ago how impatient you would be. Isn’t it time that you found someone with mental, ah, whatsits, that are closer to your own?” 

“No,” said Jeeves.

“We never spoke of a permanent, ah, arrangement,” said Bertie.   Jeeves went very, very still. 

He sat up and wiped his eyes on the sleeve of his robe. “I thought you understood how I felt.” 

“Wooster never was apt to be very quick on the uptake,” said Bertie. “And it would be ungentlemanly to presume.” 

“I don’t want to live without you. I love you. Please stay with me.” 

Bertie considered this for a long moment. “And what will happen if we tire of each other?” 

Jeeves chuckled.  “We will be like the Olympians, dearest.  They sometimes squabble, but they always come home to each other in the end.” 

“Very well then.”  Bertie patted his pockets.  “I’m sure I have something here.  Ah, yes, there we go.”  He pulled a small box from his pocket and, very slowly, knelt on the tattered rag rug. “It’s my Oxford crest.  I thought it was fitting.” 

Jeeves pulled Bertie up from the floor and into his lap.  “Dash it, I was going to be proper and gentlemanly and thingummy, Jeeves.” 

“Perhaps you would be so good as to not catch cold,” said Jeeves.  “It would not be congenial.” 

“Is the crest?” 

“Very much so.” 

“Good.” 

“Thank you.” 

“Now might we have a bit of a tumble?” 

“I am not sure I understand you.”  He waited until Bertie looked down to let his eyes twinkle. 

“Ah, some consorting, er rather,” Bertie blushed. 

“I think that can be arranged.”


End file.
